


Might I Tempt You?

by ellbie



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst, First Kiss, Kissing, Love, M/M, Pining, Romance, Slow Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-05 16:22:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20491736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellbie/pseuds/ellbie
Summary: Armageddon had been averted, and Crowley had offered Aziraphale a place to stay. But even if Aziraphale could make sense of Agnes Nutter's final prophecy, the angel couldn't guarantee their safety from the forces of Heaven and Hell if he couldn't get Crowley on board with the plan.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by the events that might have happened between the bus stop scene and the park scene (right before Aziraphale and Crowley get kidnapped) in the final episode of the mini series.

“You don’t have a side anymore,” Crowley said solemnly. “Neither of us do." He drew in a measured breath. "We’re on our own side. Like Agnes said, we’re going to have to choose our faces wisely.”

The glum silence after Crowley finished speaking was interrupted by the low rumble of the Oxford bus and the sharp squeak of its breaks as it slowed to a stop in front of the bench where they both sat. The sky was dark and clear and miraculously starry. Crowley stood, gesturing for the angel to follow him.

The bus driver smiled blearily as they boarded. Crowley sat first and looked straight ahead. Aziraphale took the seat next to him and stared down at his hands resting in his lap, lost in thought. Both were quiet for the next several minutes. Crowley wanted to say something comforting to Aziraphale, but his words weren’t coming as easily as they normally did. 

He remembered past times when they’d sat in the back room of Aziraphale’s old bookshop, drunk and slurring after too many bottles of wine. In those days, a story about a rendezvous with one of Aziraphale’s favorite authors or composers was always enough to coax a laugh out of the angel. But with the bookshop gone, Crowley’s memory of accidentally spilling red wine on Beethoven’s sheet music that one time sounded thin in his brain, and he doubted he’d be able to imagine anything else cheery enough that wouldn’t be instantly swallowed by the yawning hopelessness of their situation. Crowley didn't even want to think about their odds of escaping the fury of their respective Head Offices alive.

He glanced sideways and saw that the angel was still staring blankly down at his upturned palms. 

_ He needs you, _ Crowley thought. _You've gotta do something for him. Anything._ Crowley looked down at the angel's hands._The poor bastard just lost his home. __Stop being a coward, you bloody idiot, and just do it. For him. Just do it… just do it, just do it, just- _

Before he could reason his way out of what he was about to do, Crowley's hand darted over and took Aziraphale’s. 

Aziraphale, jolted from his thoughts, gasped quietly when he felt the demon’s touch. He was glad that he caught himself before he recoiled. 

It wasn’t that they’d never touched before. There had been hand shakes and claps on the shoulder. There had been drunken stumblings down the sidewalk after leaving a play, where, laughing loudly, they'd locked arms to stop the other from falling. Once, when Aziraphale was disguised as Brother Francis, he’d scolded Nanny Ashtoreth in front of young Warlock, telling her it was wrong to encourage the boy to step on ant hills. (_“Think o’ how those ants feel, young Master Warlock. Your game can’t be very fun for them, now cannit?” _ ). Crowley, disguised as the nanny, responded by slapping the gardener straight across the face. (_“Oh, don’t listen to _him_, dear. See how fun that was for _me_?” _)

But this touch was different. This was intentional and comforting, and "comforting" was not how one typically would describe the actions of a demon. He tried to catch Crowley’s eye, but he seemed to be intently focused on the seat in front of him. Cheeks warming and mouth turning up into a small smile, Aziraphale squeezed Crowley’s hand in return.

The demon’s eyes were completely covered by his sunglasses. The only indication that he noticed the angel’s reciprocation was a tendon suddenly becoming very visible on his neck caused by his tightly clamped jaw.

They sat in complete silence the rest of the way to London.

* * *

The bus slowed to a stop in front of Crowley’s flat. The driver shook his head a bit and frowned upon realizing not only that he wasn’t parked at an actual bus stop, but that he was quite far off his route.

“Right,” Crowley said, taking his hand back. “Shall we?”

Aziraphale blinked and looked down sadly at his now-empty palm. He stood up and walked to the door, pausing to whisper to the driver.

“Thank you ever so much for going out of your way to drop us here. May your drive back to Oxford be quick and uneventful.” 

The driver smiled, and his eyes glossed over again. Aziraphale continued ahead of Crowley, taking a few steps away from the bus before stopping to look up at the dark building looming in front of him. The moon sailed through the sky, reflected in the black windows.

Crowley’s voice sounded from behind. “Come on, angel,” he muttered as he walked toward the entrance, his shoes clicking sharply on the concrete path that led to the door, but Aziraphale didn't move.

“Crowley…” The demon turned and stared. Aziraphale’s eyes glistened. “Are you sure...” He took a breath. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

Crowley's face softened. He took the angel’s hand, and led him inside.


	2. Chapter 2

Aside from how cold and bare it was, there were two things Aziraphale noticed in particular upon arriving in Crowley’s flat: the first was a beautiful sculpture of an angel and a demon (“_Are they… wrestling? Or...? _”). Aziraphale blushed and turned to the second thing that caught his eye: a pile of dirty clothes bunched up on the floor. 

“Oh don’t mind that. That’s just Ligur.”

Crowley hopped over the pile.

“Or what’s left of ‘im.”

Aziraphale followed, his wide eyes flitting left and right uneasily as they walked further into the flat.

“Drink?” Crowley called from the kitchen.

“Oh, ah... yes! Yes, that would be lovely.”

If Aziraphale had been in the habit of swearing, he would have cursed the nervousness in his voice. But he wasn’t in the habit. Instead, he clasped his hands behind his back and approached the imposing marble topped desk that appeared to be the only bit of furniture in the room. Well, that and the chair that sat behind the desk. 

Rather, it was more of a throne. 

“Oh, good lord.” Aziraphale rolled his eyes, not the least bit surprised about Crowley’s ridiculous choice in furniture. A vast, mostly empty space filled with only a flashy throne? Freud would probably have something to say about it. [1]

A flash of bright green peeking from around a corner caught the angel’s eye.

“Oh my, look at that!” Aziraphale marvelled quietly as he walked into the other room and found himself surrounded by some of the most beautiful plants he’d ever seen. But there was something else he’d begun to feel as he moved amongst the foliage. His hand grasped at his chest and his eyebrows furrowed. 

“What is that?” he gasped. 

Was it… fear?

A low level of emotion ranging from stress to terror emananted off the plant life, and it was resonating deep in the angel’s heart. Aziraphale, remembering his angelic duty, started to speak to them. 

“There, there, it’s alright,” he cooed. “Look at how wonderful you all are. Survived the Apocalypse, no doubt! How proud you must be of yourselves. Such lovely, lovely plants.” His voice drifted off dreamily, and the tension in the room began to dissipate. 

* * *

Aziraphale was absent-mindedly running a finger over the leaf of a preening pothos until it suddenly jerked away from his touch. Crowley had entered the room, snarling at the plants. The garden began to tremble.

“What are you lot so happy about?” Crowley spat. 

He handed Aziraphale a glass of scotch. Aziraphale raised his eyebrows but decided not to comment on how inappropriately strong the pour was.

“Oh, but these are just _ wonderful _, Crowley!” he exclaimed, not eager to startle the plants again. “I had no idea you had such a garden!” 

The angel took a timid sip of his drink.

“Eh, careful saying that around them,” the demon muttered, glowering at the shaking leaves. “Last thing I need is someone coming in and spoiling them. They’ll never listen to me again, otherwise.”

“Ah, of course.” Aziraphale took another sip. “My apologies.”

“S’fine.” 

An awkward silence fell. Crowley walked in a wide, slow circle around the angel, eyeing him tentatively and waiting for him to speak. Finally, Aziraphale sighed.

“Crowley,” he said, clearing his throat. “Shall we perhaps sit and chat about this prophecy?”

* * *

1 Actually, Freud _had_ commented on Crowley’s choice in interior design almost a hundred years prior. It was around the time Crowley had taken credit for some of the doctor’s more controversial theories, although he knew the human had come up with most of them on his own. When they met, Crowley had introduced himself as “Eros,” so take that how you will.


	3. Chapter 3

Crowley pulled out the throne and offered it to Aziraphale before propping himself against the edge of the desk.

“Right! So! ‘Choose our faces wisely’... playing with ‘fyre’... what do you make of it, angel?” 

Crowley was swirling his drink in his glass, eyes unblinking behind his sunglasses.

“Well, I think it’s pretty obvious, really.” The demon cocked his head to the side as Aziraphale continued. “When our respective sides come for us, they’ll…” Aziraphale paused and looked away, finding the words difficult. “They'll intend to make an _ example _ of us. And what better way to make an example out of an angel?”

Crowley pretended to think before sarcastically wondering aloud, “A strongly worded letter? A demotion? Maybe they’ll condemn you to an eternity of running out to get coffee for those twats Gabriel and Micha-”

“Hellfire, Crowley,” Aziraphale interrupted sternly, staring hard at the demon who’d just gone very pale. “And I can only imagine that for you, they’ll have-”

“Holy Water,” he hissed.

Crowley glanced over to where Ligur’s clothes were bunched on the floor. He grimaced as he remembered how the demon’s body had collapsed in on itself in a sizzling pile. He heard echoes of those screams. 

Crowley couldn’t meet the angel’s gaze. Instead, he downed the rest of his drink, pushed himself up from where he’d been seated on the desk, and turned to pour another himself another from the bottle of scotch that was placed between them.

“Right,” he mumbled mirthlessly. “I s’pose it’s been nice knowing you.”

“My dear,” Aziraphale said gently, rising to stand next to his friend. “This is not the end by any means. Agnes already told us what we need to do.” He started speaking more animatedly. “Now, I suppose it will still be quite risky, but if we play our cards right…”

Crowley turned and blinked at him in confusion. “Right… I don’t, erh… What are you getting at?”

Aziraphale smiled, his eyes shining with the excitement of a child who had figured out the riddle on the back of a cereal box. “We need to _ choose our faces wisely _ , my dear. It would be a death sentence for a _ demon _ to touch holy water, after all.” He winked.

“But not for an angel!” Crowley shouted, grinning. 

There was an interesting phenomenon that happened sometimes when Crowley drank. After two or three or four or five drinks, he tended to get stupider and stupider. But at some point, usually just over two-thirds of the way through his sixth drink, the boozy fog would clear and he’d become almost as smart as Aziraphale was when sober.

“But are y’sure? The bit about the Hellfire makes sense, but what if Hell has something other than Holy Water in mind for me ...ah… you? You as me? Well, _ me _, really.”

The intelligence boost never lasted long.

“It makes perfect sense though, right? You and me, angels and demons, Heaven and Hell, fire and water.” Aziraphale considered the prophecy’s words again. “I suppose we can’t know for sure until we go through with it, but I believe this is what Agnes was trying to tell us. I think we just need to have a little faith.” He laughed, immediately embarrassed at his choice of words.

Crowley wasn’t amused.

“A little _ faith _ ? No. No, no, no. I’m sorry, but absolutely not. This is too dangerous of a plan for us to put our trust in _ a little faith _.” 

He spat the last words.

“Crowley, this is the best we have to go on, and I’m confident-”

“_Enough_,” the demon bellowed, causing the angel to recoil. “I’m not going to send you down there on a hunch.” He paused for a moment, thinking, and then brightened up again. “Maybe I can do both! I can get past the Hellfire for you and then find some way to get out of whatever Hell actually has planned for me.”

“Absolutely not, Crowley!” Aziraphale cried. “I cannot let you risk your life for me.”

“You- you can’t- you-” Crowley sputtered incredulously. “_You _ can’t let _ me _ risk _ my _ life for _ you? _ News flash, Aziraphale: I don’t _ need _ your permission. I already thought lost you once, and I’m not going to let it happen again!” 

He downed the nearly full drink, slammed his glass down, and stalked away, leaving the angel gaping in his absence. 

* * *

Aziraphale found him in the other room, angrily misting his plants.

“Crowley, I’m… I’m so very sorry.”

“S’fine,” he sniffed.

Aziraphale moved to stand next to the demon, who was trying very hard to avoid his gaze. 

“You know, after all the times you’ve been to the bookshop, I haven’t ever once been here. And I don’t think you’ve ever mentioned that you like to garden.” Crowley still didn’t look at him. “You know, once all this is over, we should go to Kew Gardens together! I think you’d find it absolutely marvelous.”

“Angel. Please. Stop.”

Crowley was overwhelmed and found Aziraphale’s optimism completely maddening. If he had to think one more time about stepping out of the Hellfire into a universe where Aziraphale was trapped in Hell, or where the angel had been wiped from existence…

He shuddered and pushed his hand behind his sunglasses to wipe his eyes. 

“What if we ran?” Crowley’s voice sounded hopeful again.

“To where?”

“I don’t know,” he dropped the mister and held his out arms wide, gesturing around. “Somewhere. Anywhere. Anywhere they can’t find us.”

“Crowley, it’s the entirety of Heaven and Hell. They’re not going to stop looking for us. We _ have _ to face them eventually.”

“But!" Crowley was starting to get desperate. "But what if we lose?”

He barely got the question out before his voice cracked. He quickly covered his mouth with his hand, stifling a sob.

“Oh, dear boy.” Aziraphale smiled consolingly. His eyes watered as he reached out to take Crowley’s other hand. “Now don’t go making me cry as well.”

Crowley had been furiously (and mostly unsuccessfully) blinking back tears and sniffling. Now that Aziraphale was looking at him with such genuine kindness, he couldn’t help but chuckle. He squeezed Aziraphale’s hand and held it just a moment longer before turning away to compose himself. 

He kept his back turned as he wiped his sunglasses with his shirt. Clearing his throat, he asked, “How ‘bout another drink?”


	4. Chapter 4

As the bottle of scotch got lower, the pair got more relaxed about their miracles. First, one had made a small chair appear so that they’d both have a proper seat. Later, a much more comfortable couch materialized. Finally, a turntable, complete with a stack of records (mostly Aziraphale’s favorites), began playing quietly in the corner.

“I mean… I mean… as _ terrifying _ as it was, did you not just _ relish _ how Adam told off Gabriel?”

Crowley grinned broadly at the angel. The arm holding his glass was dangling lazily over the armrest, splashing liquor onto the floor. “I hope that’s not the last time someone puts that prat in his place.” 

Aziraphale blushed and giggled. 

“And did you _ see _ Lord Beelzebub? Oh man, they were _ ssssoooo _ pissed.” Crowley was too drunk to keep from hissing.

“Oh! And Satan! For Heaven’s sake, when he popped up, let me tell you, I thought we were done for.”

They both laughed loudly.

“Well, s’good thing you had me there. Always wiley and cunning and … and…” Crowley belched. “S’cuse me. And… and always thinkin’ on my feet! Yep, I’m always doin’ that.”

“Oh well, I don’t know about that.” Aziraphale hiccupped. “Seemed like you were ready to ‘throw in the towel,’ as it were, ‘til I got you t’come ‘round.”

“Wh-what?!” Crowley guffawed and in one smooth movement snatched his sunglasses off and tossed them vaguely towards the desk so Aziraphale could feel the full weight of his incredulous stare. “I thought you were gonna bonk me with that ridic’lous sword o’yours! Didn’t have a choice, did I?”

“Ah, is that what it was? See, here I was thinking you’d never risk not speaking to me again.” Aziraphale’s eyes twinkled mischievously, and Crowley scoffed.

“Oh _ cooome ooon _. As if you’d keep up that end of the bargain. You probably wouldn’t make it...” 

He began counting on his fingers.

“...50 years before you missed me and came crawling back!”

"You're the serpent, m'dear. I think crawling is your specialty."

Crowley leaned back into the couch, chin up, staring down his nose at the angel. He was smiling with sharp teeth.

"You always this much of a flirt when you're drunk, angel?"

“Oh please," Aziraphale laughed, blushing again. "Well. At any rate, I suppose it’s good we didn't need to find out, isn't it?”

They turned their gazes away from each other and stared straight ahead in a happy, drunk, comfortable silence. When the record reached the end, Crowley popped up off the couch to flip it. As the next song started on the B-side, Crowley’s eyes lit up.

“I remember when he wrote this one! Took quite a bit of tempting on my part, but I think it was well worth it!” 

“Oh, do come _ on_. You can’t expect me to believe you had anything to do with this,” Aziraphale responded, laughing heartily. 

“No, s’true! And, if I recall, I asked you to one of the performances at Ranelagh that time we were both in Chelsea! But _ nooo_, ‘angels don’t dance,’ or some such nonsense.”

“Well, it’s true! Rather, it _was_ true at the time. That was the 1700s and I didn’t learn the gavotte until…” Aziraphale furrowed his brow trying to remember. “...until much later.”

“Oh, angel, you are the worst,” Crowley smirked, rolling his eyes dramatically.

They quieted as the song continued.

“S’pose,” Crowley started shyly, and then cleared his throat. “Ah, s’pose I couldn’t convince you now?”

Aziraphale peered at him, puzzled. “Convince me of what, dear boy?”

Crowley cleared his throat again, and stood up straighter. Then he sucked in air and nervously asked in one breath: “Could-I-convince-you-dance-to-with-me?”

Aziraphale flushed and his eyes darted down, but a huge smile was obvious on his face. “Um, well… ah, you see, I must admit: I am not a good dancer. I wouldn’t really know what to do.”

Crowley approached the couch where Aziraphale was sitting. He stretched out is hand.

“Eh, we’re drunk and surely both rubbish.”

He smiled, and his yellow eyes shone brightly. 

“Dance with me, angel.”


	5. Chapter 5

Aziraphale had never slow danced before, so Crowley had taken his hands and placed them properly (one on Crowley’s shoulder, the other in Crowley’s hand), making the angel wonder how many times Crowley had danced like this with someone else. But he didn’t really want to think about that right now. Instead, he wanted to focus on where his feet were landing as the demon guided them slowly around the room in time to the music. Unfortunately, he kept getting distracted by his dance partner’s other hand, which rested carefully on his waist.

“Not half bad, angel,” Crowley encouraged, a split second before Aziraphale stepped on his foot.

“Oh dear, terribly sorry,” he laughed sheepishly. “I’m afraid I’m too drunk for this.”

“Nah, you’re doing fine.”

Aziraphale felt Crowley pull him closer until their chests were touching. Soon they weren’t stepping around the room as much as swaying in place.

“Whoever said ‘angels can’t dance’ was clearly an idiot.”

Aziraphale sighed, smiling, and let his cheek gently press against Crowley’s neck. Crowley shivered at the touch.

They continued to move in silence. The moment felt so sacred that Aziraphale didn’t want to risk ruining it by speaking. But something was tugging at the back of his mind, and he knew he needed to voice it.

He turned his head up slightly so his mouth was closer to Crowley’s ear but kept the side of his face pressed tenderly against the demon’s skin.

“Crowley, dear,” he whispered.

“Mhmm?” Crowley murmured.

Aziraphale pulled back just enough so that he could look up into the demon’s face. “I… I just wanted to say that…” He swallowed, and continued earnestly, “I wanted to say that I am… truly sorry.” 

Crowley’s yellow eyes scanned the angel’s curiously.

“‘Sorry’? For what?”

“Well,” Aziraphale started shyly, “I’ll admit, I didn’t realize how upset you were when I was discorporated. I hate to think that I scared you, and it really was my own stupid fault for stepping into the portal.” He chuckled ruefully. “Ahem. So. Anyway. I just wanted you to know that I am truly, truly sorry.”

Crowley had stopped moving by this point, his mouth hanging slack, but he didn’t let go of Aziraphale, who was looking up at him expectantly. He regretted tossing his sunglasses and quickly glanced left and right to see if they were within reach. They weren’t.

“Aziraphale… I… you… s’fine. Really.” His eyes welled up again. “Damn,” he groaned, “we were having such a nice time, and you had to go and ruin the mood.” He managed a laugh as a tear slid down his cheek.

Aziraphale smiled gently at him, reaching his free hand up to wipe the tear away. He kept his hand on Crowley’s face, cupping his cheek and letting the tips of his fingers brush against that fiery red hair. Crowley shivered again.

“Sorry,” he whispered again.

“Oh, shut it! It wasn’t your fault.”

“I promise I’ll never scare you like that gain.”

“I know.” 

“I just need you to _ trust _ me.”

Crowley’s eyes hardened instantly.

“Angel.” His tone was cold.

“I know this is what the prophecy _ intends _ for us to do.”

“_ Angel.” _

Aziraphale continued. “If we just-”

“_ AZIRAPHALE.” _

Aziraphale jolted, but his wide eyes quickly furrowed angrily.

“Oh, don’t be a _coward_ Crowley. We can do this!”

Crowley balked. His mouth gaped noiselessly for a few seconds before he found his voice.

“Coward? _ Coward?! _” 

Furiously, he snatched the angels hands, holding them by the wrists, and yanked them down to Aziraphale’s sides. 

“I’m a coward for actually _ caring _ about what happens to you?” he hissed. “I’m a coward for actually wanting us _ both _ to survive this mess? I’m a coward for actually _ giving a shit?!” _

His hands still gripped the angel’s wrists painfully, and his snarling face had leaned in, noses nearly touching, as he shouted the last words. 

Aziraphale winced, but didn’t pull away.

“Is that what you think of me, Crowley?” the angel whispered, hurt. “You think I don’t care?”

They both had tears in their eyes now, and Crowley pulled away to reach for his drink. After downing a gulp, he sucked a breath in through his teeth.

“No,” Crowley’s steely eyes bored straight into the angel, “right now, I _ know _ you don’t care.”

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale gasped, his heart sinking. “Why? Whatever would make you think that?”

Crowley grunted and looked away from the angel’s sad gaze. He made no indication that he was going to say more.

“Fine,” Aziraphale pouted, and walked back to the couch, sitting on the far side in a huff. As sadness slowly twisted his face, he brought both hands up to cover his eyes. His shoulders began to shake.

Crowley faltered.

“Listen, Aziraphale, I didn’t mean that,” he offered lamely. “Please don’t cry.”

Aziraphale took in a shaking breath, but his voice was steady when he spoke.

“How could you even think something like that? After everything we’ve been through?” His voice trailed off, and he shook his head sadly.

“What am I supposed to think, Aziraphale?” the demon asked indignantly. “You’re talking about this stupid, dangerous plan, where, by the way, both of us will probably end up dead, and you aren’t even pretending to be scared!”

“Not scared? My dear, _ of course _ I’m scared. I’m _ terrified _. But this is the only way we’ll finally be safe.”

“But you don’t _ know _ that. Hellfire, sure. I can handle that. But we’ve no idea if holy water is what Hell will have waiting for you! S’too risky, angel.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Then he leaned forward in his seat.

“Crowley, whenever I’ve needed you, you’ve been there. Without fail. I owe it to you, my dear. Please, let me do this for you.”

Crowley was still standing stubbornly across the room, swirling the drink in his glass in moody contemplation. Eventually he sighed and sauntered over to join Aziraphale on the couch, sitting as far to the other side as possible so as to leave plenty of room between them. The pair sat in tense silence until Crowley finally chuckled. 

“You know,” he said, still smirking, “I can think of about a million ways you could’ve thanked me for all those times I saved your skin over the last few millennia, and none of them involve risking your life.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale brightened, a small smile forming on his lips. “I suppose I thought you were one for grand gestures.” 

Crowley’s head lolled toward Aziraphale, eyes scrutinizing the angel closely.

“Eh, fair ‘nuff,” he laughed.

There was another pause as they smiled at each other, the icy tension melting away.

“I guess you aren’t wrong though my dear.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “‘Bout what?”

“You aren’t wrong about all those times I could’ve thanked you over the last 6,000 years, all those missed opportunities to show you that I cared. And for that, I apologize heartily.”

Crowley let out an embarrassed chuckle and moved closer to the angel, leaning in as if he was going to whisper a secret: “I’m getting pretty bored of all your apologizing. It’s killing my buzz.”

“Don’t be silly, my dear. You absolutely deserve an apology. I am, and I’ve always been, ever so grateful to have you in my life. You’re truly a good friend, Crowley.”

Crowley blinked and blushed and turned away.

“And I know you’ll get upset with me for saying it, but… Well, remember in 1941, at the bombing of the church? When you saved my books from the blast?” 

Crowley blushed a bit more but looked amused. He nodded.

“Well, I still think that was the _ nicest _ thing anyone has ever done for me.”

Crowley closed his eyes as his smile widened fondly. That memory burned in his brain as clearly as if no time had passed: the feeling of excitement and nervousness, the smell of smouldering rubble, the sound of Aziraphale’s panicked voice (“_Oh, the books! Oh, I forgot _ all _ the books!”) _, the brief touch when Crowley’s fingers grazed Aziraphale’s hand as he handed over the briefcase full of unharmed, first-edition texts.

This time, it was Aziraphale that scooted closer, slowly closing the gap between them. Crowley’s hand was resting on his knee, and Aziraphale reached out gently to hold it. Crowley’s eyes shot open and stared down at their hands. Then he turned to gaze unblinkingly at Aziraphale. His yellow eyes were shining.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale breathed, moving even closer, “you are so very, very, _ very _ important to me. And I can’t bear for you to think otherwise.”

At some point, the record had stopped, but neither of them went to start another one. They stared deeply into each other’s eyes, searching. 

Crowley was looking for something, anything... any indication that he could move forward, closer to the Aziraphale, or that he should move away.

The angel’s lips parted imperceptibly as his eyes flitted momentarily down to Crowley’s mouth. They were so still and holding their breaths so tightly that the only sound that could be heard was the soft shushing of the turntable needle as it dragged lightly again and again over the center of the still-spinning record.


	6. Chapter 6

There’s an old paradox that goes something like this: To get from any point A to point B, you must first traverse half the distance from A to B. Then, you must traverse half the remaining distance, and then half of what remains after that, and half of what remains after that. This continues on and on infinitely, presumably until the object traveling from point A to point B, upon realizing the impossibility of traveling a never-ending amount of half-distances, gives up in frustration and abandons the trek.

The angel and the demon, however, had no intention of abandoning this journey. Slowly, every so slightly, they moved together, shortening that infinite gap separating them.

It had more or less always been like this with them. In the 6000 years since they’d first spoken in the Garden, their lives had weaved in and out around each other, sometimes pulling tight and close, and sometimes lax and loose, keeping them apart for centuries. But now...

Crowley noticed the slightest flicker of movement in Aziraphale’s face: his eyes shifting minutely, his lips parting just barely.

“Angel,” he started to whisper, but Aziraphale’s mouth had already pressed against his, silencing the word.

Crowley’s eyes went wide for an instant before he snapped them shut and pressed forward, kissing Aziraphale hungrily. With a groan, he grabbed at Aziraphale, twining his fingers through the angel’s blond curls with one hand while the other wrapped around the back of his neck, pulling his face in closer. The demon’s tongue gently licked Aziraphale’s lower lip before his sharp teeth bit down, perhaps a little too hard.

Aziraphale gasped and pressed his hands into Crowley’s chest, pushing himself away. Crowley’s face went white with worry.

“Angel, I-I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”

Aziraphale was panting. “No, dear. No. I’m fine. It’s just…” he trailed off, unsure of what to say.

Crowley looked crestfallen. “Listen, I’m sorry. We can stop. We don’t have to do this.” His worried eyes tried desperately to read Aziraphale’s expression.

The angel offered a reassuring smile. “No, it’s not that. It’s just…” He paused another moment, thinking. “Do you think we could, um… Do you think _ you _ could, ah, slow down? Just a bit?”

Crowley went beat red. “O-oh, Satan. Oh, I’m _ so sorry _ ,” he sputtered. “Yes, _ of course _.” 

Aziraphale laughed nervously. “Dear, you’re fine. Really.”

The humiliated demon hid his face in his hands and moaned. “I’m sorry. I’m an idiot.”

“Crowley, really! It’s fine! Absolutely fine! I just…” Now it was Aziraphale’s turn to be embarrassed. “I just haven’t… well, _ you know _.”

Crowley looked up and stared at him at a loss. “Know what?”

Aziraphale sighed. “I’ve haven’t _ done this _before.”

Crowley blinked.

“So, I don’t know, I just thought… well…” He smiled sheepishly. “I just thought maybe we could go a little bit slower.”

Crowley blinked again.

“Oh, stop staring at me!” the angel cried.

The demon kept staring, his mouth turning up in a wry smile. “Haven’t done _ what _ before, exactly?”

“Oh, hush,” Azriaphale muttered, staring down at the floor.

Crowley’s eyes glittered with amusement. “No, angel, I’m serious. Whatever do you mean? I haven't the slightest clue what you’re talking about.”

Aziraphale cheeks were flaming. “_ Fine _ ,” he huffed. “I’ve never _ kissed _anyone before.”

Crowley howled with laughter, throwing his head back dramatically. He held his sides, still cackling, as Aziraphale asked irritably, “Oh, so that’s funny, is it?”

Crowley struggled to contain giggles. “No, no. Not funny at all,” he snorted. “You just had me worried there for a second.”

Aziraphale furrowed his brow. “Worried about what, exactly?”

Crowley was getting quite a bit of pleasure out of teasing the nonplussed angel.

“Oh nothing,” came his glib reply. “I just thought you were going to tell me you were a virgin or something.”

Aziraphale’s eyes shot open, horrified, but whatever indignant protestation he was about to make was cut off by Crowley kissing him again. Gently, this time. He let his lips peck gently along Aziraphale’s cheek until he was close to his ear. His low, breathy voice whispered, “Relax, angel. I’m joking.” Then he kissed his mouth again.

As their lips pressed lightly together, Crowley kept his hands to himself, not wanting to scare Aziraphale a second time. The angel sensed his hesitation and reached up to lay his hand on Crowley’s face, thumb gently stroking his cheek.

Aziraphale was a being of love. Love was the core of his existence, as it was for all angels.[1] But his body was currently swelling with an emotion that felt so unfamiliar. That’s not to say it didn’t feel like love, but it was so different from the normal, calming, _ agape _-style love of God and humanity that he normally felt. This feeling, on the other hand, was intense and terrifying and hot and wonderful and electric. His hand that brushed against Crowley’s face burned like it was touching fire, and his chest felt like it was going to burst.

“Crowley,” he breathed, relieving some of the pressure. Crowley looked at him, yellow eyes unblinking and glittering almost like gold. “Crowley, I… I think I love you.”

It only took Crowley’s brain a split second to process what he’d just heard before a huge smile spread across his face. He wrapped his slender arms around Aziraphale’s waist to hug him closer.

“I know,” he smirked and buried his face into the angel’s neck, his smile positively glowing when he heard Aziraphale’s happy whimper.

* * *

1Well, some more than others.


	7. Chapter 7

Still seated on the couch, they both could tell when the process had finished, but neither opened their eyes. The kissing felt familiar, and with their eyes shut and their hands grasping at each other, they could ignore the brink they were teetering over for just a bit longer.

When Crowley finally felt Aziraphale begin to pull away, he pushed back toward him adamantly, a quiet whine of protest escaping his lips. Aziraphale took Crowley’s face in his hands, preventing him from stealing another kiss. The demon whimpered. Their eyes remained closed.

“Alright, I’m… I’m going to look,” The voice coming out of Aziraphale’s new mouth sounded so alien in his new ears.

He took a deep breath.

“Right. OK. And I’m opening my eyes… _ now_.”

The angel couldn’t help but gasp when he saw his own body sitting in front of him with its brow furrowed and eyes firmly clamped shut. Aziraphale’s new eyes, which seemed strangely immune from needing to blink, scanned this strange, new Crowley with fascination. He let his hands fall from where they had been cradling Crowley’s face so that he could flex his new fingers and marvel at how long and slender they were.

“Oh my _ lord_.”

_ They’d done it. _

“Aziraphale?” Crowley asked, panicked and still refusing to peek. “Azirapha-” He gagged. “Bloody hell, is _ that my voice?” _He opened his eyes, which were now sparkling and blue.

Yellow eyes with slit pupils stared back at him. _ His _eyes stared back at him.

“Oh… oh-no-nonono. I _ hate _ this. I do _ not _ like this, angel.” His tone was bordering on hysteria as he furiously began examining his new form: looking down his arms and inspecting his hands, peering over either shoulder, standing to test his legs, pressing his fingers into his new, soft face. All while repeating “nonono” in a soft, tortured groan.

Aziraphale, on the other hand, just sat there, quietly beaming with his new, sharp teeth.

“What the heaven are you smiling about?” Crowley demanded. He suddenly noticed how tight his collar was. “Ugh, and these _ clothes _. How do you wear these bloody things?” he griped, giving his new bowtie an irritated tug while kicking his legs to try to get the pants to settle more comfortably. “This suit is tight in all the uncomfortable spots and baggy everywhere else.”

“Hah!” Aziraphale snorted. “You should talk! How do you even fit into these trousers?”

“They’re not ‘trousers’, you idiot, they’re _ jeans._” His voice lowered to a defiant mutter: “And I look cool in them.”

“Well, whatever they are,” Aziraphale retorted, squirming in Crowley’s tight pants, “they are entirely ill-fitting. I don’t even know how you move in these.”

“So take them off,” the demon taunted. He tried to punctuate his quip with a smirk, but the muscles in Azriphale’s face didn't seem used to that particular orientation. “Oh for Satan’s sake, can your face do anything but _ simper_?”

Even his hissing wasn’t working.

The angel let out an exasperated sigh. “Crowley, dear, kindly keep your demonic temptations out of _ my _ mouth.”

Crowley snickered. “Is that the only rule your mouth’s got?” He managed as close to a mischievous smile as Aziraphale’s body would let him. “Or are there other things on ‘no-go’ list?”

Aziraphale felt Crowley’s cheeks go hot and scarlet. “God in Heaven, you are such a _ child _, Crowley.”

Crowley laughed again as he perched on the arm of the couch. “What can I say, angel? I thought you _ loved _all my antics,” he goaded. He was really beginning to enjoy this.

Aziraphale, face flaming indignantly, readied himself to chide the demon again, but he was quickly pulled into another deep kiss.

And this time he didn’t pull away.

* * *

It was a perfect and beautiful Sunday morning in St. James’s Park. Children chased each other about on the dewy grass, their excited squeals floating on the breeze. Swimming geese sent glittering ripples through the lake as they snapped at bread tossed into the water by the well-dressed foreign spies who spoke to each other surreptitiously from behind newspapers and attempted to hide how much they were enjoying the sun on their faces. The sky was a bright and pale blue, filled with heavenly white clouds.

Meeting at the ice cream cart, Crowley, disguised as Aziraphale, inquired, “How’s the car?”

“Not a scratch on it,” replied Aziraphale, disguised as Crowley. “How’s the bookshop?” 

Music from a brass octet swelled in the distance.

“Not a smudge. Not a book burnt.” He slowly circled around his friend, eyeing their surroundings. “Everything back just the way it was.”

He took the ice cream that the angel handed him, looking away a bit uncomfortably. He still wasn’t used to seeing his own body moving about without his control. And he wasn’t happy about watching it eat sweets.

“You heard from your people yet?”

Aziraphale took his popsicle from the vendor and frowned, shaking Crowley’s head ‘no.’ “Yours?”

“Nothing,” the demon responded tersely.

The top of the cart closed with a thud.

“Do you…” the angel began cautiously, feeling grateful for the sunglasses hiding his eyes, “...understand what happened yesterday?”

Crowley shrugged Aziraphale’s shoulders. “Well, I understand some of it. But some of it…” It was hard to hold back his bashful smile. “Well, it’s just a little bit too, ah-”

“Ineffable.” 

Aziraphale jerked his head around to find the source of the ominous rasp that had suddenly blanketed the pair in dread. As soon as he saw the dark figure, he wondered how he could’ve missed him before. It wasn’t exactly subtle: inhumanly tall, draped in long black robes, holding a menacing scythe. 

“Oh that’s funny seeing him here,” Aziraphale murmured, pointing with his popsicle. “That’s meant to be bad luck."

Time seemed to stop as Death stood facing them from across the park. Then, just as quickly as he’d appeared, the presence evaporated into a black cloud. A flock of birds that had been nearby took flight, the music continued to play in the distance, and the dark, smokey tendrils hovered for just a moment before being quickly dispersed by the warm, summer breeze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy to have finally finished the last chapter! I'll probably make some minor edits to the earlier chapters, but for all intents and purposes my first ever fan-fic is done :D (...aside from the 50 alternate titles I might cycle through)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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